


























































I 


















The Moonseed’s Ministry 


and 

Other Sonnets and Songs 


By 

LOUIS D. EICHHORN 


Copyright 1924, Louis D. Eichhom 
Redlands, California 






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PREFATORY NOTE 

Concerning certain products of the author's pen, con' 
siderate friends have repeatedly urged, “You should publish 
the best of them." 

Here, then, are a few of the lines. Had printing been 
postponed until some Tomorrow, no doubt much had been 
changed, from choice of word or phrase, to the mechanical 
matters of form, punctuation and even spelling. Perhaps 
the very best way for doing any worthwhile thing has 
not yet been found. One can hardly have done with 
changing, polishing, improving. 

However, one hope is that all readers may find some' 
where in these pages, as they are, an occasional pleasing, 
heartening bit, sufficient to justify production and publi' 
cation. 


CONTENTS 


Page 

The Moonseed’s Ministry. 9 

Vision . 10 

When Winter Goes. 11 

Welcome to the Cloud... 12 

To a Rusty Nail. 13 

A Wish . 14 

Beauty Is Not Dead.:..... 15 

A Moving Picture. 16 

The Golden Wedding. 17 

You . 18 

The Chimney Sweep. 19 

Poem, Bear Company With Me. 20 

Philosophy . 2 1 

In the Arena. 22 

By the River. 23 

Limping . 24 

Encouragement . 25 

Night Thoughts . 26 

A Wordless Ministry. 27 

The Eucalyptus Tree. 28 

Scars and Songs. 29 

A Song for the Commonplace. 30 

To Be a Boy Once More. 31 

OmGoers .*. 32 

The Old and New. 33 

My Cue . 34 

Under the Trees. 35 

A Vitalising Voice. 36 

The Home'Going of “Uncle Joe”. 37 

In Protest . 38 

Travellers . 39 

Time's Failure . 40 

To My Gas Fire. 41 

Nevertheless . 42 

The King of Peace. 43 

“Tongues In Trees'. 44 

The Endless Quest. 45 

One Sayer’s Desire... 46 

The Cheerful Teamster. 47 

On the Heights. 48 










































For Dreaming . 49 

“We Need to Keep Our Poise”. 50 

Whispers and Thunder. 51 

Relief From Pain. 52 

Deciduous ... 5 3 

For Armistice Day. 54 

“Let Come What May”. 55 

Three Quatrains . 56 

Steadfastness 

Gentleness 

Kindness 

SONNETS 

“Short Is My Breath”.,. 58 

Disarmament . 59 

Dreamers and Doers. 60 

For Thanksgiving . 61 

“Why Should I Wait?”. 62 

“Until High Noon”. 63 

New'Set Sails And Change Of Tack. 64 

There Is No Death. 65 

“Heal Us, Good Mother, With Thy Blessed Balm”. 66 

In Merry Mood. 67 

LIGHTER LINES 

“Just For Fun”. 68 

Three Limericks . 70 

At The Zoo 
Speed 

Excess Baggage 

Hot Weather Hints. 71 

The Poets and We. 72 

Ants . 73 

Relaxation . 74 

Another Questionnaire . 75 

Wheat Instead of Chaff. 76 

A Slogan For July.-. 77 

False Motion and Commotion. 78 

On Washing Dishes. 79 

The Postman’s Dream. 80 

“The Fix the Poets Are In”. 81 

The Old Country School. 82 

Final Wishes . 84 





























































9 


THE MOONSEED’S MINISTRY 

\y{OONSEED! The Menispermum’s common name, 
1 1 Botanic term for plant of wondrous charm, 
Uncommon quite thy influence, and thy fame 
Shall live while fire can burn or aught alarm. 


Long have I lived in shadow and the cold, 

Shut in where needful sunlight seldom falls; 
Thy pendulous flower'clusters grace with gold 
These dull, restraining, damp and shaded walls. 


Borne in profusion, Moonseed, thy dear flowers 
And peltate leaves, each with a vital voice, 

Call to me 1 cheerily through passing hours, 

Giving me hope, and bidding me rejoice. 

Thou climbing shrub, deciduous though thou art, 
Forever shalt thou live within my heart. 


“Moon’Sked, in botany, a common name for Menispermum, a genus of 
climbing deciduous shrubs, containing one species in North America and 
another in Asia. The former is a handsome plant, suited to damp and shady 
walls with large reniform peltate leaves and yellowish flowers borne in pro- 
usion on long pendulous racemes.” (Encyclopedia Britannica.) 




10 


VISION 

TWO men were walking slowly by; 

One paused; I saw his eyes shine, heard him cry, 
“O see the roses!’' 

A wagoner then came driving by; 

The seat he occupied was very high,— 

Saw he the roses? 

And other folk go speeding by; 

Short, ugly, sharp, their raucus horns reply 
To appeals of roses. 

Alas, for those who ever speed! 

From Nature’s lovely page who never read 
What she discloses. 




11 


WHEN WINTER GOES 

TS Winter lingering within? 

^ Now comes the Spring! 
Cheer-flinging, 
Warmth-bringing, 
Melody-making, 
Gloom-forsaking, 

Choiring, trumpeting Spring! 

“Too long imprisoned have you been 
’Tis the voice of Spring 
Me addressing, 

Freedom stressing;— 
Beauty-showing, 
Health-bestowing, 

Beckoning, challenging Spring! 

Soul of mine, now this song begin: 
Again ’tis Spring! 

Air-perfuming, 

Care-consuming, 

Hope-reviving, 

Plan-contriving, 

Charming, heartening Spring! 




12 


WELCOME TO THE CLOUD 

T TPON the velvet sides of broad, green slopes, 

^Lie somber shadows, moving as I look. 

Dark are the foothills to their very crests. 

The lofty peaks beyond them raise their forms 
High into sunlight and the upper air. 

So, ofttimes, this our daily life appears: 

There float between us and the constant sun 

Those forms which bathe in shadow well-known ways. 

But as we lift our eyes to summits far, 

Which yet our weary feet must scale, behold! 

Their heads are proudly crowned with Hope’s high light, 
Urging with insistence answerless, 

To tread with purpose high the upward way. 

We highly prize the pure, strong-shining sun. 

Who yet with powerful beams man overcomes. 

So, welcome to the cloud, we cry;—relief - 
Affording cloud! While Hope still beckons us 
To sun-crowned heights, darkness, we know, is brief. 




13 


TO A RUSTY NAIL 

'"THOUGH someone long ago discarded thee, 

Thy usefulness, old nail, is not yet done; 

Thou must make one more stand in serving me 
Before thy final victory may be won. 

Weakly to lie, and helpless, on the ground, 

Is to acknowledge that thy sun has set; 

Some worth-while place for thee may yet be found, 
Some worthy service be accomplished yet. 

Full half thy head is gone, thy body bent, 

Thin, rough and ugly, due to biting rust; 

And yet, be sure not all thy strength is spent; 

Thou must not yet surrender to the dust. 

Come, yield thy body to my hammer’s blow; 

See how a single stroke thy form improves! 

Already Hope and Courage in thee grow. 

As handicaps my discipline removes. 

Behold! just here thy opportunity,— 

To keep this loosened fence-board in its place; 

Ready, ’t is done; begin thy jubilee! 

’Gainst uselessness and death thou hast won thy race. 




14 


A WISH 

'NIGHT some letters late were mailed 



x When all in the house were sleeping. 
While yet they sleep to-morrow morn, 
The messages, by others borne. 

Will on their way go sweeping. 

Would that some helpful words of mine, 
Written or sung or spoken, 

Might be shared by others for their cheer, 
Dispersing doubt, subduing fear. 

Thru my last long sleep unbroken. 




15 


BEAUTY IS NOT DEAD 


XTO, Beauty is not dead, nor can she die. 
^ But they are blind. 

If everywhere that man may go, her steps 
They do not find; 

And she herself is there, not far to seek, 
Patient and kind. 


No, Beauty has not fled; nor e’er shall flee; 
She loves us well. 

The bell that tolled, you misinterpreted; 

Not Beauty’s knell 

Was rung, but death of heart and brain, alas! 
Such darkness fell. 

Today I saw her at the market place, 

Her face was sad. 

“Many who pass me with unseeing eye, 

Joy might have had.” 

Still Beauty holds her place ’gainst Ugliness, 
And I am glad. 

Dear, deathless Beauty, omnipresent friend. 
Lover of all, 

Still smite my darkened senses with thy charms. 
Nor cease to call 

Till, grateful I shall greet thee everywhere, 
Thy willing thrall. 




16 


A MOVING PICTURE 

T SAW an imposing procession pass 
Across the Morning Sky: 

Giant figures in white 
Facing the Rising Sun. 

“They look 
Like men!” 

Slower and ever slower they moved, 

And stumbling, lost their stateliness 
Until I laughed. 

I could have wept 
When falling, fading, 

Ghostdike they vanished into the Blue. 




17 


THE GOLDEN WEDDING 

For Mr. and Mrs. A. L. D. 

(1873-1923) 

TN the Keystone state 
'■'Their journey together began: 

T’ward the Golden Gate 
Set out the woman and man whose life-long plan 
Has been to pass thru the Gate of Pearl to the City of Gold. 

O precious is Gold! 

And precious is all that the years 
And Old Time so bold, 

Have revealed thru smiles and tears, thru hopes and fears, 
To the pair whom Love and God's own grace this day 
enfold. 


And here by the sea, 

Whither travellers constantly come, 

We make jubilee, 

And rejoice with you in this home wherein the sum 
Of filial and parental love can not be told. 

We congratulate you, 

And declare, this happiest day, 

That we long for a new. 

More felicitous word to say. You on your way 
For fifty years have come, and yet you are not old. 

As at set of sun, 

Oft on highest peaks there rest 
Rare tints that have run 

Gold-kissed, from the darkening West, so may life’s best 
Abide upon your heads till you His face behold 
Who long has led, and in His book your names has enrolled. 




18 


YOU 

'"FHRU the night, 

Yon Light 

Smiles bravely in the dark. 

From afar, 

Yon Star 

Beams steadily on me. 

Thru the years, 

There cheers 

Me, one true Voice, in tune. 

You are the Light, the Star, the Voice, 
Bidding me see, hope and rejoice. 





19 


THE CHIMNEY SWEEP 

, and with cheerful face. 



^The jovial Chimney Sweep 
Takes his high place 
Where smoke and sparks forth leap 
When fires with Winter race. 

The heights which song-birds grace, 
With ease by him were won; 

Of fear no trace. 

His house-top work well done, 
Singing, with sooty face, 

He now descending, goes 
The chimney’s base to scan; 

His work well knows 

This honest, thorough man;— 

My confidence in him grows. 

Into my tasks let me 

Cheer, skill and thoroughness throw; 

These, as a Master-key, 

Wherever I may go, 

Unlock the Treasury. 




20 


POEM, BEAR COMPANY WITH ME 

/^OME, Poem; you bring a meaningful message 
^'From the hot heart of one a^throb with Truth; 

Bear company with me, until I rightly 

Hear you speak and sing. Your buoyant spirit 

Will give uplift and cheer to mine, too oft deprest. 

Your form is slight; your words are few; and yet, 

To receive your message, my ear and heart are ready. 
Again, Poem, and still once more;—your patience, 
While to hear you clearly and to understand, 

I make a new and vigorous endeavor. 


From yon far peak, down to this valley where today I dwell, 
You, dear Poem, have brought a burning bit of life 
To me. And this from you has nourished well 
The life in me, and clarified my vision. 

Therefore, my sincere and endless gratitude to you. 




21 


PHILOSOPHY 

YV7HY should I hike to the mountains? 

There are hills at home to climb. 

I simply change my attitude, my dress, 
If I require more altitude, or less, 

Alter my state of mind, and I’m 
At once among sweet Pleasure’s fountains. 




22 


IN THE ARENA 

'"THE red flag flapping around his horns, 

A The vicious bull his tormentors warns; 

He killed the horse of the first picador 
And trampled the man. Then the matador 
Was attacked and injured; he barely escaped 
With his life. Then the beast a new course shaped 
He cleared the stockade which was six feet high. 
And returned to the ranch he had left to die. 

No bull has engaged in a fight, it appears, 

And escaped with his life in ten long years. 

And man, in the great arena of life, 

Must meet his foes in a deadly strife; 

For man has many tormentors too, 

He must charge and fight as a man may do. 

And not just once in a long decade 

Must a record like this of the brute be made; 

But daily must man “break through a troop 
And leap over a wall” with a conquering whoop! 

Such foes as Fear and Delay and Doubt 
Must be constantly met and put to rout. 

Man may tap his stores of reserve and power 
And gain his freedom every hour. 




23 


BY THE RIVER 


AS yonder stick upon the stream 
Tossed in at time of play, 
So I, on the restless tide of time 
Am swiftly borne away. 


The stick’s destination I do not know; 

E’en now it is lost and gone; 

But I shall anchor my boat at home 
When my journeying days are done. 





24 


LIMPING 



k Silver Billy, my dog, 
Erratic, 


streak of white across a gray road, 


keen, 


missing nothing, 


Sets out with me, his master. 


I sit by the roadside writing. 


He thoroly investigates the Here and There, 
Salutes flying birds, 

Pursues brilliant butterflies, 

Explores honeycombed excavations 
For the elusive gopher, 

And now 
returns 

limping, 

Even as I did from my multifarious peregrinations. 

Birds, Butterflies, Gophers, 

Challenge 

and 

go free. 

We — go — limping. 

Much territory remains uninvestigated; 

Wounds 

remain 


unhealed. 


I sit by the roadside writing. 




25 


ENCOURAGEMENT 

"CRIEND, be of cheer! 
L Blend smile with tear. 

Long tho the day, 
Wrong hastes away. 

Dark tho the night, 
Mark, there is light! 

Blest shalt thou be; 

Rest is for thee. 





26 


NIGHT THOUGHTS 


course I seek His face when Pain, 
Red-eyed and furious, visits me, 
And He, my Father, is well-pleased. 


But not alone when suffering comes, 
And torture robs me of my peace, 

To Him I turn; no, God forbid! 

But when as now, no grief annoys, 
And Night with her benignant touch 
Has soothed my spirit, and has tuned 
Day’s boisterous voices into dreams,— 
And all for me, that I may sleep!— 
Then eagerly I reassure 
My Father, and in gratitude 
I speak forthwith my love and praise. 
His smile bestowed assures me well 
He is more pleased when thus I come, 
Than when in special need and pain, 
His aid I seek, His presence plead. 


God is,—is all I need to know; 
Emmanuel,—and there I rest. 

Since He is here to watch and keep, 
I lay me down in peace to sleep. 




27 


A WORDLESS MINISTRY 


YV7ITHIN an oak tree’s sheltering shade 
^ An old man stood; 

Then presently he sat, adream, 

In patient mood. 


What is it old men meditate 
With downcast eyes? 

Methinks, tho gazing toward the ground, 
Thoughts higher rise. 

The old man slowly moved away 
With placid mien; 

And I am blest in seeing one 
Man so serene. 




28 


THE EUCALYPTUS TREE 

TF I my faults could shed 
As yonder tree its bark, 

Men might by me be led 
Securely thru the dark. 

For mark, that trunk so white and clean, 
Outstanding may by night be seen, 

A sentry patient and serene. 

Unaided did the tree 
Its simple task perform; 

But man must ever be 
Assisted, calm or storm. 

Dear God, grant vision unto me 
To see One Man upon the Tree! 
Uplifted, He gives victory. 




29 


SCARS AND SONGS 

P\EAR old tree, 

The skillful surgeon did his best for thee, 

And yet new scars appear. 

I saw thee yellowing in thy sturdy prime, 

Ageing and failing in midsummertime, 

And it was clear 

Thy strength could not withstand the winter storms. 
Thy trunk was split, 

Infection deep at work; 

The surgeon’s wit 
Allowed him not to shirk: 

Cleansing the ugly wounds, 

He filled them with a medicine he had made; 
Removing needless branches heavy and long, 

He tightened then strong cables round thy arms. 

In fancy now I hear a grateful song 
That through thy foliage sounds; 

For by this timely aid, 

Is guaranteed thy life and friendly shade. 




30 


A SONG FOR THE COMMONPLACE 


CAF commonplace things I sing today. 
Of the obvious, the trite; 

For are not ever the common things 
The source of our chief delight? 


The cooling breeze upon the cheek, 

Cold water, the easy chair, 

White sand, red bricks, green leaves, blue sky, 
The blush on the peach or pear. 

The simple acts of a little child, 

A neighbor’s kindly deed, 

Sunset, moonrise, sea, stars and flowers, 

Just common things meet my need. 


Let him who will seek the wide world thru 
For unheard of things and rare; 

But I am content with the commonplace things 
That are beautiful, true and fair. 

There are countless things of the kind I mean, 
That are ours without alloy; 

And may we have more plain common sense 
The commonplace to enjoy. 




31 


TO BE A BOY ONCE MORE! 

HOW I long to wander once more in the woods, 

As free and happy'hearted as in boyhood days; 

To feel again the enchantment of green solitudes. 

To walk amid the wonder of old winding ways. 

Again to enter those mysterious, dimdit aisles, 

To have the rare companionship of sturdy trees, 

To tread the moist and velvet floor, allured by wiles 
Of vagrant breezes, charmed by unstudied melodies! 

O speak to me again, thou primitive forest vast! 

I need a strength and freshness thou canst well restore; 
Speak with thy myriad, heartening voices; o’er me cast 
The early spell, and let me be a boy once more. 




32 


ON-GOERS 

'WAN so rapidly walking, so strongly, 
iVi I myself used to step as vigorously, 

As firmly, as rapidly as you. 

As you advance so energetically, so confidently, 

I wonder if your thoughts keep pace, 

I wonder if you are now in step 

With high, just, hearty^treading thoughts! 

As for me, my feet more faltering, 

I fall behind many omgoers like you. 

My mind I urge; my thoughMnarch 
I try to tune and time with a firm footfall 
Now heard and never quite covered 
By unceasing and universal noises. 

Sidestepping none; backsliding none; stilbstanding never! 
On-going ever, mind march forever,—till the Commander 
calls: 

HALT! 

I take no orders, no tempo, from any but from Him. 
Often the movements are difficult to execute, but I tty, 

And He is patient; yes, more patient than you are. 


FORWARD! 




33 


THE OLD AND NEW 

^HERE’S a call that is a clamor 
A For a thing called Something New; 

For folk finding satisfaction 
In the old, are growing few; 

Few and far between you find them, 

For along life’s crowded way 
Men are dreaming, wishing, working 
For the New from day to day. 

Old songs now, we seldom sing them; 

We must have a brand new tune. 

Poems too, with rhymes a^jingle, 

Like old mammy used to croon, 

These by many are forgotten. 

Nowadays much verse is “Free;” 

Free indeed of form and rhyming,— 
Simple aids to memory. 

While the new things claim our interest, 
Please our fancy, fickle, vain,— 

Painting, poems, music, sculpture. 

Yet we often turn again 
To the old, the tried, familiar. 

These our hearts can always move; 

So while the New have our attention, 

Yet the Old things have our love. 




34 


MY CUE 

powerful play goes on." 

1 O the actors! Some good. 
Some bad. I too have been 
Upon the stage; I know 
Just how the actors feel. 

Tomorrow I shall play 
Again;—another part, 

And shall do much better. 

Today I merely view 
The scene, and meditate. 

O you actors! As bad, 

As good, as I have been;— 

(And some are better far.) 

My cue? Yes, Prompter,—quick! 
It is—Now the speech is done! 
“The powerful play goes on." 






35 


UNDER THE TREES 


T TNDER the trees by a musical stream, 

^ I surrender to Nature and sit and dream. 


I think of the sick who must lie in bed, 

Of the poor and unfortunate, needing bread; 

Of the over'rich, sick of surfeit and care, 

Of the thoughtless who never lift song or prayer; 
Of the prisoners all in their cells confined, 

Of the homeless, the idle, the deaf and blind; 

Of multiplied thousands who toil and sweat 
To lighten the load they would fain forget; 

I think of the souls who never find joy 
In the humdrum tasks which their days employ. 

So many there be who are sick at heart, 

Lacking courage and hope, and who long to start 
All over again, to be born anew,— 

Such thoughts now and then come to me and you. 
Then’s the time to go, if you can, and dream 
In the open air by a singing stream; 

I am sure you shall find, as I found today, 

That much that deprest you will slip away. 




36 


A VITALIZING VOICE 

T HEARD a Voice which spoke to me and said: 

“Immortal Spirit, whither dost thou fare? 

Thy steps are slow and halting as if thou 
Wert not quite sure of trav’ling on the road 
That leads thee to thy journey’s longed'for end. 
Hast lost the vision of the wicket gate 
Which once that famous, faithful Pilgrim saw? 

Come, friend, thou must press on lest night o’ertake 
Thee far from home. Trim thou thy lamp; the light 
Is with thee yet; and then, though darkness fall, 
Thy path is clear and no delay can come.” 

Grateful am I, O Voice, for counsel kind; 

Thy help I feel; with confidence I go. 




37 


THE HOME-GOING OF “UNCLE JOE” 

OLOWLY he walked thru the crowded waiting room,— 
quiet little man with beard of gray; 

Boarded a train and homeward took his way. 

His final passing from official life 
Was almost as unheralded as when 
He came to Washington, so long ago: 

Just one or two remarked, “There’s Uncle Joe!” 

The train drew out; with scarce a ripple, then, 

The terminal’s work as usual went along. 

So will it be when you and I go home; 

Forgetting us, men must their tasks resume. 

Peace, restless soul, fret not nor seek for fame; 

Strive not for place nor fortune; play the game; 

Do but thy best; when comes thy time to go, 

Move out serenely as did “Uncle Joe.” 




38 


IN PROTEST 

“the magic promise of the skies” 



fulfilled. 


For He 

Who made the skies for you 
And me, 

Hath made the promise too. 

Shall He, 

Who having willed 

That in His skies the stars and suns shall rise, 
So faithless prove, 

So false to Hope? 

Greater His love! 

Not all our dreams “must vanish;” 

Nor shall “the wise turn to blown dust!” 

But we these thoughts must banish, 

Else we forever must 
In darkness grope. 




39 


TRAVELLERS 

TWO travellers toward the West, from Eastern homes, 
A Lately arrived, one rare October day, 

In Southern California, whither comes 
Many a lover of the charming May. 

“And when you crossed the desert,'” queried one, 

“Thru stifling heat and dust, how did you fare?” 

“The Lord sent clouds to shield us from the sun, 

And gave us tonic freshness in the air.” 

The traveller’s answer, which he promptly gave. 

Bring thoughts on meditation’s mighty wing, 

Which bid another traveller be more brave, 

And cause his saddened heart to gaily sing. 

Two others journeyed to this land of flowers, 

Away from Winter’s blighting frost and snow; 

And they have known the long and desert hours, 

But gracious help from heaven they also know. 

One thing may grow where nothing else may be;— 

’Tis love, and where it bides is always May; 

No bleak Decembers, no infirmity. 

No deserts drear shall drive our love away. 





40 


TIME’S FAILURE 

T SEE Time tracing wrinkles on the fairness of your face, 

A But he has failed to dim the luster of your lovely eyes; 

Nor can he check the vibrant tides that with your spirit’s 
grace, 

Like fountains from Elysian fields, from your dear heart 
arise. 

The bubbling, blessed overflow through years has never 
ceased, 

But, like my love for you, your love for others has 
increased. 




41 


TO MY GAS FIRE 

HTHY low, monotonous voice, thy quiet “hush" 
A Is restful music to my weary ear; 

And oft at eve after the day’s mad rush, 

I listening sit till Fancy’s throngs appear. 

Here is no snap nor spark, no soot nor smoke. 

No ash, no flaring up nor dying down; 

Here comes the Muse when I her aid invoke, 
With pleased demeanor, no resentful frown. 

I turn the key; no fire, no voice remains 
Except the creaking of the cooling stove. 

Its gentle warmth now slowly, surely wanes; 

I hold but what the Muse and Fancy wove. 

Life’s flame burns low; the Author of the spark 
Erelong shall turn the key and say, Enough. 

O what shall then remain but cold and dark? 

God grant a fabric usable and tough. 

Fibrous and warm, of elemental stuff. 

A quiet cheer, a warmth, a soothing, steady glow 
Let me emit, dear fire, till I as thou, must go. 




42 


NEVERTHELESS 


OOMEWHERE I too got the stuff of songs, poems, 
^ pictures; 

Sometimes I too weave fabrics in tones, words, colors. 


Today words fail; 

(I write new words when I need them.) 

My palette is broken; 

(I paint without a palette.) 

Someone gave me the stuff of pictures, poems, songs. 




43 


THE KING OF PEACE 

"CIND you no peace on earth? 

^ Yet be of right good cheer. 

For it must soon appear. 

The Restless Christ, 

The Disturbing Christ, 

The Sword-bringing Christ 
Is born! 

While Bethlehem’s Star we see,— 
Sure Guide for you and me, 

We ne’er again shall be 
Forlorn. 

We celebrate His birth 
With high and holy mirth; 

THE KING OF PEACE IS HERE! 


c 




44 


“TONGUES IN TREES” 

■psAYLONG yon graceful Eucalyptus tree 
•^Continually moved its agile head. 

And tiptoed that it might the better scan 
The far horizon. Nearby, long there sat 
A downcast man with face toward the ground. 

I bade him lift his eyes and tell me then 
Just what he saw of interest o’er his head. 

“I wonder why this regal tree so tall, 

Its ever restless top moves to and fro, 

While other trees content, all quiet stand?” 
Being thus observant, soon this voice we heard: 
”1 mean to see what lies beyond this town!” 

Upon us both the night came slowly down; 
The tree, in gentle whispers, murmured on: 
“Be patient, brothers, only wait for dawn; 

We then shall see what lies beyond the town.” 




45 


THE ENDLESS QUEST 

'DESTLESS by day and night, 
^Mighty with appetite, 

Old Ocean’s hungry hands 
Bring from beyond the sands 
Of all they find to shore;— 
Then out again, seeking more. 

As the persistent tides 
Hurry where plunder rides. 

So, questing, goes my soul; 
You, not the moon, its goal! 
For you I seek new store, 

Shall seek forevermore. 



46 


ONE SAYER’S DESIRE 

must say it," she said 
V ^ / In a poem I read today. 

Then twice: "How may one say it?" 
* * * “and forever be trying 
Till the day we are dying. 

To say the thing some other way." 

O Poet, Seer, Sayer, 

Be not so “stammering and eager. 

Anxious, suffering, trying 

To say the thing some other way!" 

Infinite Creator of pictures, 

Revealer of significant Truth, 

Only let me See and Understand; 
Then let me say my say 
In such a way today, 

That he who runs may read. 




47 


THE CHEERFUL TEAMSTER 

TTIS wife is ill; he did not sleep last night; 

^ The fretful baby too, required his care; 

Domestic duties all by him were done; 

And then, soon after rising of the sun, 
Whistling he came with team and tools to toil, 
To cultivate for me my needy soil. 

A truth important as this day is fair,— 

The lesson taught, O let me learn aright: 

Let me my duties day by day perform 
With cheer and uncomplaining loyalty; 

That the yield of my heart’s soil may ever be 
As are the products of my vine and tree,— 
Sufficient to nourish well not only me, 

But many, whether days bring shine or storm. 




48 


ON THE HEIGHTS 


OELFISH? Ah, no; I do not mean to be, 
^Sitting in solitude beneath this tree; 

But I have left the busy haunts of men 
To hear more clearly Nature’s voice again. 


My artist friend retires alone to sketch; 

To reproduce in color what he sees; 

And oh! the wondrous charm that he can fetch 
From Nature, as his art and fancy please. 


And I have come to meditate and rest; 

To open wide my soul; from clod and cloud 
To gather mystic meanings all unguessed 

While mingling with the heedless, noisy crowd. 


God of the open air, give me the wit 

To capture here a Something, sight and sound— 
Of Nature’s touch and taste, and carry it 

Down to the folk who need Thy peace profound. 




49 


FOR DREAMING 

T^ODAY I pray 
A For grit to sit 
And dream. 

Fay Fancy’s flit 
And gleam 
I obey, child’s play 
Tho it, each bit 
May seem. 

For they with wit 
To dream, 

Are gay and fit,— 

Supreme 

Their sway. So stay, 

Submit, nor quit 
The theme. 

The dream 

Becomes tomorrow’s Deed, 

The deed 

That meets man’s deepest Need. 





50 


“WE NEED TO KEEP OUR POISE” 

AN editorial paragraph today, 

'^Proves that the writer walks in Wisdom’s way; 
This timely, sensible word he has to say: 

“We need to keep our poise.” 

In speaking of an epidemic dread, 

There’s one thing each of us must do, he said; 
Upon hysteria we are overfed, 

And if we really wish to forge ahead, 

We need to keep our poise. 

If unnecessary travel we forego. 

Where danger is and is not, learn to know. 

We soon can deal this thing a knock out blow, 

To all our neighbors and the world can show 
That we can keep our poise. 

Indeed, my friend, we need to keep our poise; 
Need to command a calmness in the noise 
Of modern life which oft our peace destroys; 

Poise we must gain or lose life’s chiefest joys,— 
We need to keep our poise. 




51 


WHISPERS AND THUNDER 

'PXUTY “whisper low” to me? 

^No; 

In thunder'tone she speaks: “Thou must! 
Spite of the handicaps of dust. 

Thou yet must show 
What man may be.” 




52 


RELIEF FROM PAIN 

T^EAR God, I thank Thee for relief 
^ From Pain. 

The growing plant whose life is brief. 

When rain 

Refreshing comes, and from each leaf 
The stain 

Removes of drought and dust, the grief 
And bane 

Of its small life, smiles, eager to attain 
Maturity. So I find this joy chief, again 
To lift my voice,—such prayer cannot be vain, 
To thank Thee, Father, as for timely rain. 

So, from my heart, I raise this one refrain: 

Dear God, I thank Thee for relief from Pain. 




53 


DECIDUOUS 


''"THIS is the very leaf, now pale and dead, 
A That fell upon my face, awaking me. 
(My couch beneath an old umbrella tree.) 
And meditating, to myself I said: 


When I shall fall in season, as this leaf, 

I shall be glad if with me, on my bed 

There rest tree'shade and foliage, beautyTed;— 

Mute symbols of our common life so brief. 


Nor shall I care if all shall fail to rouse 
Me from my quiet slumber, where I lie. 
We lived our life and served, the leaf and I, 
And take our rest content, as Time allows. 





54 


FOR ARMISTICE DAY 

HPHIS is the week for us to speak 
A Of things that make for Peace; 

That age-old Strife and Hatred rife 
Shall die, and Love increase. 

This is the day for us to say 
That as for us, we now 

Resolve that we, War’s cruelty 
Shall nevermore allow. 

This is the time the monstrous crime 
Of wars must be forgot; 

When you and I must ceaseless try 
To erase the awful blot. 

This is the hour when Heaven’s own power 
Each heart and life must fill; 

For this we pray by night and day. 

For World'peace and Good Will. 

This moment we anew may be 
Devoted to this task; 

Him we implore shall grant us more 
Than we can think and ask. 

Plowshares from swords, deeds more than words,— 
Let this demand be hurled 

Upon the air, till everywhere 

Peace reigns throughout the world. 




55 


“LET COME WHAT MAY” 

XTAUGHT as we know it now can long remain. 

Wherever Thought’s universe^girdling train 
Throughout all worlds of things and men may range, 
Inevitably comes a constant change. 


No so'called “everlasting hills” exist, 

However proud they leap toward the sky; 
Invisible hands and tiny mills of mist 
Unceasing gaily grind their granite grist,— 

On dust'wings mightiest mountains earthward fly. 

There is no ceaseless sorrow, endless pain; 
O’ertaxing troubles, waxing now, must wane; 
And what appears but loss shall be great gain. 

Unquiet soul of mine, be at peace today; 

All things that vex and mar must flee away. 

One thing alone remains, below, above, 

But one thing only, and its name is Love. 

If Love endures and dwells with me today, 

I’ll do my work, and sing, let come what may. 




56 


THREE QUATRAINS 

1 . 

STEADFASTNESS 

TOEHOLD the rugged form of yon great rock! 
■^Steadfast it stands, established in its place; 

Let me likewise be firm, of fear no trace, 
Unmoved in every sudden, boisterous shock. 


2 . 

GENTLENESS 

T ET me be gentle as the quiet night 

“^Whose soothing shadows hush the boisterous day. 

So Peace with her allies with me shall stay, 

And all my vexing foes be put to flight. 


KINDNESS 

TF I could be as kind as this great tree 
L Whose wide-spread arms wave welcomes to its shade, 
Strife-heated men, hard-pressed, and wanting aid, 

In their extremity would turn to me. 




Sonnets 


“SHORT IS MY BREATH” 

OHORT is my breath, nor long my faltering song; 
^ Brief is my stay, at best, on this fair earth; 

Therefore, O earth, let all thy precious worth 
Into me flow, and all my being throng— 

Flow and compel an overflow so strong 

That beauty, grace and strength may spring to birth, 
That others also may be blest in dearth, 

And right more quickly triumph over wrong. 


Too feeble, far, do thy impressions come 

To me, O Nature! “Every touch should thrill.” 
Waken and stir my sleeping senses numb, 

Until thy deepest purpose I fulfill. 


Thus, whether brief or long my sojourn be, 
Mortals may hear through me Heaven's melody. 




59 


DISARMAMENT 

"COR one good hour at least, I am alone; 

** And in this quiet park where I may write, 

The foe named Interruption, need not fight; 

Here, all unarmed, with Peace I am at one. 

Yet am I armed: mightier than deadly gun 
Or sword, the pen may be, to put to flight 
The monsters Ignorance, Fear and Doubt, which blight 

And curse mankind, and leave them all undone. 

O that my pen compelling power might wield, 

That these and other foes might be o’erthrown! 

That all the allies of sin, thus forced to yield. 

Could be as oft our spirits are, cast down! 

These men'destroyers, routed from the field, 

Enduring peace and joy should thus be won. 




60 


DREAMERS AND DOERS 

kind to your dreams,” keen counsel of a sage, 

^ Is for us all an apt admonishment; 

For following a materialistic bent 
Is one of the deadliest curses of the age. 

Both young and old there are who oft engage 
In ridicule of those who are intent 
On seeing visions; those who unsparing, spent 
Themselves in the war with darkness which they wage. 

To laugh at dreams we once have dreamed, is like 
A foolish laughter over broken hopes; 

The man who at the heart of dreams will strike, 

A murderer is, who in dense darkness gropes. 

Dream worthy dreams of things that ought to be; 
Persist, and realization you shall see. 




61 


FOR THANKSGIVING 


T5ETTER than one Thanksgiving Day each year, 
Would be consistent Living thanks each day; 
Finer than feasting with our friends so dear. 

Is generous sharing with the poor alway. 


“And what," said one, ’’must I be thankful for?” 
“For all things, always,” so the Book declares; 
“And must I then be thankful too, for War?” 
Ah, still we stumble on the heavenward stairs! 


For life’s December, as for merriest May, 

For blessings which men say come in disguise, 
Father, accept our thanks. We humbly pray 
That Thou wilt somehow open our blind eyes 

Help us to tread the path that leads to God, 
Grateful and trustful, as our fathers trod. 




62 


“WHY SHOULD I WAIT?” 

(To C. H. M.) 

HY should I wait until my friend be dead 
To speak appreciation of his worth? 



Since of encouragement there is such dearth, 
More promptly let the loving word be said. 

Lover of Beauty, from thy fountain fed* 

Many now move more helpfully on earth, 
Charm, cheer and self-expression bring to birth, 
And grow in grace, by thy bright guidance led. 

M-, may thy ministries of pen and brush, 

Mingled with Music’s ever changeful voice, 
Rebuke all ugliness with magic Hush! 

And build yet more the Beauty of thy choice. 

Live on, brave Dreamer, doer of deeds unique! 
Thy praise I shall no longer wait to speak. 




63 


“UNTIL HIGH NOON” 

/^\NE said, “Until high noon there was no sun.” 

Not so; you were deceived by Fog and Clouds. 
So, sometimes, in the world of men, the one 
Is lost to sight because of surging crowds. 

The faithful sun was there; Person is here; 

Not permanently lost, tho now obscured; 
Unvarying influence still exerted, clear, 

Helpful shining o’er the world may be assured. 

Hail, Mighty Sun! Age'dd thy splendid power; 

The shifting clouds are gone that hid thy face; 
Their forms and influences last but an hour, 

While thou and man, God'made, yet hold their place. 

You, Man, are one, and I; steadfast must we 
Our course pursue, whatever clouds there be. 




64 


NEW-SET SAILS AND CHANGE OF TACK 


TAAILY I read of those who have come back 
To a successful life, when all seemed lost; 

Of those who long, by Time’s rude tempests tossed, 
Headlong were hasting on the downward track. 
Women and men who once had lost the knack 
Of joyful, helpful living, yet have crossed 
From drifting purposeless, to currents most 
Propitious, by new'set sails and change of tack. 


Many who read these lines promptly declare 
How they prevail ’gainst foes within, without: 
“You cannot fail! Be bold to dream and dare! 
Say, l I shall win!’ then never fear nor doubt.” 


Be of good cheer! The sun in heaven is high; 
All men were made to live and not to die. 




65 


THERE IS NO DEATH 

("NUR dear ones are not dead; there is no death; 

Death means extinction; life cannot be quenched. 
The Ever-living One inbreathed His breath, 

So man in life eternal is entrenched. 

When best-beloved ones close their tired eyes 
Upon the lovely scenes of this fair earth, 

On quest they go for Heaven’s highest prize. 

For larger spheres and joys of greatest worth. 

Our precious “loved and lost awhile,” dear friend, 
Are living in the shining Morning Land; 

And thither do our weary footsteps tend,— 

We soon beside our dear ones there shall stand. 

So we must never grieve, nor doubt and grope. 

But ever Him believe who is our Hope. 




66 


“HEAL US, GOOD MOTHER, WITH THY 
BLESSED BALM” 

^\UR kind old Mother’s pouring wine to-day! 

Come, let us from her generous chalice quaff; 
Come, let us cease from labor, turn to play. 

Let us be children once again, and laugh. 

Laugh and enjoy the June-time Nature pours 
Into the mid-November of our days; 

Drink of the sparkling stream which to us restores 
A childlike spirit that rebukes our ways. 

Feverish and fretful we too oft have been; 

Heal us, good Mother, with thy blessed balm; 

So shall we know thy peace, without, within, 

So shall we have and feel abiding calm. 

Thus, with a wholesome joy, perpetual cheer 
Shall our companion be throughout the year. 



67 


IN MERRY MOOD 

'T'HE pages of one recent magazine 
Might lead a casual reader to conclude 
That Love and Women, themes forever green, 
Were all I relished in my printed food. 

Nine poems in one issue here appear, 

And all save one, on Women are, and Love; 
Showing, methinks,—is not the matter clear, 
The editor seeks stony hearts to move? 

But I must read of Bandits, Booze, and Men; 
Real men who will to sin no quarter grant, 

But fight iniquity with tongue and pen,— 

Today let’s go and see the Elephant! 

The circus comes to town and lures today; 

We men shall all be boys again, and play. 




68 


“JUST FOR FUN” 

YV7E have to have a little fun," 

To a neighbor once I said; 

“If we didn’t have, we’d die,’’ said he; 
So I broadcast his reply to me 

And say to all who are not yet dead, 
Hurry up and have some fun! 




Lighter Lines 




70 


THREE LIMERICS 

AT THE 200 


YV7HILE strolling one day thru the Zoo, 
** I stared at an Indian Zebu; 

I was startled, my dear, 

When he wiggled one ear 
And said, “Well, sir, and how do YOU do! 1 


SPEED 



at midnight his house was on fire, 
Bob showed some class in attire: 


He ran shouting, “I’m dressed!’’ 
(He had put on his vest!) 

It is true, tho he says I’m a liar. 


EXCESS BAGGAGE 

A PELICAN once filled his pouch 
^""^Too full of fresh fish; he said, “Ouch! 1 
Tho I’m built in this way, 

Excess baggage, I’ll say, 

Is a good way to give one a grouch.” 




71 


HOT WEATHER HINTS 


good folks, on these wondrous days. 



^Think everything is in a blase! 

They trek around as in a haze 

And murmur, ain’t it hot! 

While I, attired in bones and skin, 
Rejoice that I am cool and thin, 

And say to all who sweat like sin: 
“This suits me to a dot.” 

No, friend, I have not gone away, 

But on the job preferred to stay; 

I’ve kept right on a^making hay,— 

My deathless pomes indite. 

My neighbor goes for his week-end 
Where billows boom or tall pines bend, 
And seeks his savings all to spend, 

He says it is a fright! 

I smile and whisper, stay at home! 

Let but your thought and fancy roam, 
And you’ll not need to fume and foam 


And give your beard a yank; 


You’ll find yourself ahead o’ the game, 
Not caring much for praise or blame, 
You’ll still have weekends just the same, 
And money in the bank. 




72 


THE POETS AND WE 

TT’S very well to speak about 
•“““The cool hands of the breeze,” 

But what I want to hear you say, 
Friend Poet, if you please, 

Is how to cure hay fever 
And my old asthmatic wheeze. 

“The honeysuckle’s tipping o’er 
Its vase of sweet perfume”; 

I need a tip on how to build 
Another concrete flume, 

And how to get the needed cash 
To furnish another room. 

And while you softly chant about 
The “violet’s dewy mouth,” 

I have to figure what to drink 
In this my time of drouth; 

Shall I stay here or go back East, 

Or to the sunny South? 

And still the poets poetize 
And dream both night and day, 
While all the rest of us think we 
Are the ones who make the hay. 
Who raises the most important crop. 
And the largest, who can say? 




73 


ANTS! 

T SEEK an ANTlered ANTidote 
■^That holds a genuine ANTi twist; 

My heart’s as hard as adamANT 
I am a fierce ANTagonist. 

This pest is worse than spooky h’ANTS 
This elephANTine mister^ee; 

For one of those homely Aardwark things 
I’d cross the old ANTarctic sea. 

ANTeaters plus is what I wANT: 

The things I say get Aunty’s goat! 

And the ANTS I’ll get tho I have to sail 
To ANTietam in an ANTique boat. 

I chANT more trenchANT things severe, 
ANTipathy more than ANTonio had; 

I’m scANT of simple tunes like “scat!” 

More ANTics cut than ANT’ony Mad. 

I ANTy up, rANT, ANTicipate, 

The while my spirit sighs and pANTS: 

In the ANTipodes, ANTwerp or ANTioch, 
O grANT, transplANT these plaguey ANTS! 




74 


RELAXATION 

TFEEL at home with the kind of a man 

^ Who will put his feet up high 

When he sits around in his old shirt sleeves 
Without a collar and tie; 

With a man who is not ashamed to laugh, 
Who will heartily roar aloud; 

Who will sometimes do what he wants to do, 
With courage to quit the crowd. 

At times, I say, let him do these things, 

But not every time we meet; 

Some men there are, such boisterous boys, 
Who at home, or at church, on the street, 

Are always keyed to the highest pitch 
Whatever they do or say; 

Then I long to do as the Arabs do,— 

Fold my tent, and steal away. 




75 


ANOTHER QUESTIONNAIRE 


TF you were caught in a Farthingale, 
What good would a Fylfot do? 
Or a Zikkurat, seeing it has no tail? 
Could an Assagai then aid you? 


Would you go to the desert for Ampersand? 

And where for a Flocculus, pray? 

Would a Fyke and an Ankus in each hand 
Scare the Wurbagool far away? 


And where, pray tell, could an Abacist go 
For an Abacus nice and new? 

How on earth should an Abecedarian know 
If a Doodle bug bites in the dew? 



76 


WHEAT INSTEAD OF CHAFF 


it not a thing mysterious 



A You and I should be so serious, 
Since it is so deleterious 

To forget to smile and laugh? 
Come, just for today let’s try it. 
Unfurl Laughter’s flag, and fly it; 
Gloom! I shall not once go nigh it,— 
Wheat for me instead of chaff! 

When you feel deprest and weary. 
Lonely and a trifle teary, 

Don a sunny smile and cheery, 

Very soon you’ll want to laugh; 
When you feel like laughing, do it, 
You will never, never rue it. 

For the harvest,—and you grew it. 
Will be wheat instead of chaff. 




77 


A SLOGAN FOR JULY 


MOW that July has rolled around again, 

A ^ I say to girls and women, boys and men, 
Slow-up-a-bit. 


Since you desire to have good summer health. 

To lay up in reserve some worth while wealth, 
Slow-up-a-bit. 

If you would travel safely, sure and far, 

On foot or horseback, airplane, submarine or car, 
Begin today, no matter who you are,— 
Slow-up-a-bit. 

The only proper place for year-round speed 
Is in our THINKING! There’s our greatest need. 
Put pace and pep into THINKING! Yet, I plead, 
Slow-up-a-bit. 

T will make a hit like Christmas and December, 
My slogan new, if all should but remember 
There’s plenty of time to speed up with September! 
So, that you may drive like Jehu by November, 
Slow-up-a-bit. 




78 


FALSE MOTION AND COMMOTION 

T_JE could not get “the hang of it,” 

And so WE got the bang of it, 

The fang of it, the clash of it. 

The pang of it, the crash of it. 

The clatter, jangle, whang of it, 

The noisy, needless twang of it. 

Some are always dropping things, 

Never fastening flopping things, 

Rustling, rattling their newspapers, 

Always cutting curious capers, 

Seeming to prefer the clamor, 

And the raucus, violent slammer. 

Since there is so much necessary noise. 

We must do all we can to keep our poise, 

To keep our voices low, our motions quiet. 
Tho we may fail in this, yet must we try it, 
And thus protect our own and others' nerves; 
Lie who does this, society also serves. 




79 


ON WASHING DISHES 

'"TODAY I joined the Home Construction Gang, 

A And cleared the table, put away the food, 

And feeling in a fine and generous mood, 

I volunteered and washed the dishes! Bang! 

Bravely I started; cheerful songs I sang, 

My task I optimistically viewed; 

Constructive work, indeed; there shall intrude 

No thoughts of drudgery,—humdrum go hang! 

To polish glass and silver till they shine, 

Is joy. The water hot, the dish cloths clean, 

The china white and gold and blue and green,— 

How came that popular tune, “Dishwasher’s Whine’’? 

But when the greasy kettles, pots and pans 
Appear upon the scene for cleansing too, 

Then can I think of other things to do,— 

Of writing poems like this, or making plans 

Whereby dishwashing may be rendered,—say, 

“Do you wash dishes EVERY day, my dear, 

Dear wife or mother, neighbor, friend? Then cheer! 

I’m feeling queer! Come, let’s run out and play.” 

(If poets dared to preach whene’er they write, 

I’d add another line or two to this 

And say some things I think;—how to dismiss 

All drudgery,—but I’m not ready quite!) 




80 


THE POSTMAN’S DREAM 

The postman plods with nimble feet astride his one' 
wheeled bike; he never hurries but always hastes while 
halting on his hike. His sober face is wreathed in smiles, 
his empty bag is full; the whiskers on his beardless face 
are black as snow'white wool. He gaily glooms: “I’m all 
sold out;” and yet he’s ’most all in; he always speaks nor 
says a word, he is so fat he’s thin. When lifting high his 
lowly foot, its heels his ear drums beat; upon the front 
side'walk he runs while swimming in the street. And 
when his load he’s left, he’s right; he cuts ice making hay; 
should he get down to hustle up, he’ll finish tonight today. 
But a storm is raging, all is calm, the wind in silence roars; 
and from the sunny, moonlit sky, the snow in trickles pours. 
The lightning rumbles, thunders flash, and things are many 
few; dark brightness of the daytime night sounds warnings 
falsely true. The postman frowns with many a smile, and 
slowly flies for home; before he reaches there, his wife 
exclaims: “When did you come?” “I have not been away,” 
groaned he, and' gave a noiseless scream; “Do let me get 
awake and sleep, and have a pleasant dream.” 




81 


“THE FIX THE POETS ARE IN” 

(Reply to an Editorial) 

VOU say “the poets are in a fix!” 

Perhaps, yet the versifier’s tricks 
Enable a rhymester to make SOME bricks 
Without straw. 

“An engine’s perfection puts test severe 
On the modern poet.” Yet, never fear, 

He will measure up soon, my editor dear, 

Without flaw. 

As long as we rhymesters have words such as raucus 
And rattletrap, sure no machine shall out-talk us! 

Nor can all the engines in Christendom balk us. 

You say “it is hard to wax very poetic, 

For a bard to go jingling and yet be esthetic, 

In an age so mechanical, so arithmetic,”— 

Perish the thought! 

Depriving the poet of “valuable matter 
And verseTorms” while there is such plentiful clatter, 
Rhythm'fraught! 

There’s pish, tush and twaddle with claptrap and clamor, 
There’s twang, peck and rattlebox, yap, yowl and hammer; 
There’s yell, pop and jingo, 

Long lantenvjawed lingo, 

There’s jangle and gabble with jargon and jammer. 

There’s plum, snap and snicker, zip, haw, gee and whizz, 
There’s bang, whack and wallop, scat, sizzle and hiss; 
There’s bum and bamboozle, 

There’s fidfad and foozle, 

There’s chug chug tomfoolery and bunkum like this. 

Give us piffle and wiggle, 

Puff, wig'wag and sputter, 

We will sneeze, creak and giggle 
With spurt, snort and stutter, 

And will match all the music of the modern machines; 
But for now this suffices,—we have spilled enough beans. 




82 


THE OLD COUNTRY SCHOOL 

YV7ITH the passing of September and the opening days of 
™ school, 

Hosts of memories of my childhood other thoughts nigh 
overrule; 

I can see the old red schoolhouse at the crossroads corner 
there,— 

Number Seven, Rockcreek Township, in old Indiana fair; 

In Wells County, near the Wabash, river well and widely 
known, 

Where the boys fished, swam and skated. Still I hear the 
river’s tone 

As it called us in all seasons from our work to come and, 
play; 

Ever thru my thoughts that river flows its smooth, mean' 
dering way. 

I can hear the lusty summons to the scholars large and small. 

Of the bell’s commanding clangor in the early morning call. 

Enter now the simple doorway; “Do what YOU know to 
be right” 

Was the motto in blue letters, hung upon a wall of white. 

Slowly dragged the tedious morning, time for recess came 
at last; 

“Town'ball,” “Crack the Whip,” and “Black Man,”—play' 
time all too soon was past. 

Then came noon and time for dinner; Oh, the appetites we 
had! 

Memories of this single feature move to tears this grownup 
lad. 

See the little round tin bucket with its slender, shining bail; 

And the contents, who can tell them! Tongue and pen for' 
ever fail. 

I can smell and taste the lunches that dear mother put up 
then; 




83 


Oh, to find food appetizing, and just half so good again! 

Home-made bread and apple butter, spare ribs, doughnuts, 
fruit and pie, 

Hard-boiled eggs, smoked sausage, chicken, Ah, but that 
was living high! 

Pardon here a pause, dear reader, while I fix this leaky 
eye; 

For I cannot see the picture, somehow something’s gone 
awry.) 

Well, one lad, a wordy youngster, oft this problem would 
propound, 

Thinking by his clever nonsense all his schoolmates to 
astound: 

“If two diametrical circles with octagonal 
peripheries should collide on a centrifugal 
idiosyncrasy, what would the catastrophe 
exert on a crystallized codfish suspended by 
the tail from a homogeneous rafter of the 
imperium?” 

This and other vital questions of our childhood still remain, 

And unanswered shall be with us till more wisdom we 
attain. 

Soon our schooldays will be over; “School’s out!” Hear 
the chorus ring! 

Then we children will be happy, as we were in early Spring. 

Time was when the country teacher went with us to stay 
all night; 

Now the program will be different, for the Master will 
invite 

All the girls and boys to His house, He this time will be 
the Host; 

We shall still be studying, learning, doing what we love 
the most. 

We shall play and work unwearied, never conscious of a 
rule, 

And I think we may in fancy, journey back to the Country 
School. 




84 


FINAL WISHES 


\yfAY you never lose your relish 
1 1 For hilarity and fun; 

May you never quit your fooling 
Till your life’s last day is done. 




81 


“THE FIX THE POETS ARE IN” 

(Reply to an Editorial) 

VOU say “the poets are in a fix!” 

Perhaps, yet the versifier’s tricks 
Enable a rhymester to make SOME bricks 
Without straw. 

“An engine’s perfection puts test severe 
On the modern poet.” Yet, never fear, 

He will measure up soon, my editor dear, 

Without flaw. 

As long as we rhymesters have words such as raucus 
And rattletrap, sure no machine shall out-talk us! 

Nor can all the engines in Christendom balk us. 

You say “it is hard to wax very poetic, 

For a bard to go jingling and yet be esthetic, 

In an age so mechanical, so arithmetic,”— 

Perish the thought! 

Depriving the poet of “valuable matter 
And verse-forms” while there is such plentiful clatter, 
Rhythm-fraught! 

There’s pish, tush and twaddle with claptrap and clamor, 
There’s twang, peck and rattlebox, yap, yowl and hammer; 
There’s yell, pop and jingo. 

Long lantern-jawed lingo, 

There’s jangle and gabble with jargon and jammer. 

There’s plum, snap and snicker, zip, haw, gee and whizz, 
There’s bang, whack and wallop, scat, sizzle and hiss; 
There’s bum and bamboozle, 

There’s fidfad and foozle, 

There’s chug chug tomfoolery and bunkum like this. 

Give us piffle and wiggle, 

Puff, wig-wag and sputter, 

We will sneeze, creak and giggle 
With spurt, snort and stutter, 

And will match all the music of the modern machines; 
But for now this suffices,—we have spilled enough beans. 



82 


THE OLD COUNTRY SCHOOL 



the passing of September and the opening days of 


school, 


Hosts of memories of my childhood other thoughts nigh 
overrule; 

I can see the old red schoolhouse at the crossroads corner 
there,— 

Number Seven, Rockcreek Township, in old Indiana fair; 

In Wells County, near the Wabash, river well and widely 
known, 

Where the boys fished, swam and skated. Still I hear the 
river’s tone 

As it called us in all seasons from our work to come and, 
play; 

Ever thru my thoughts that river flows its smooth, mean' 
dering way. 

I can hear the lusty summons to the scholars large and small, 

Of the bell’s commanding clangor in the early morning call. 

Enter now the simple doorway; “Do what YOU know to 
be right” 

Was the motto in blue letters, hung upon a wall of white. 

Slowly dragged the tedious morning, time for recess came 
at last; 

“Towmball,” “Crack the Whip,” and “Black Man,”—play' 
time all too soon was past. 

Then came noon and time for dinner; Oh, the appetites we 


had! 


Memories of this single feature move to tears this growmup 
lad. 

See the little round tin bucket with its slender, shining bail; 

And the contents, who can tell them! Tongue and pen for' 
ever fail. 

I can smell and taste the lunches that dear mother put up 
then; 




83 


Oh, to find food appetising, and just half so good again! 

Home-made bread and apple butter, spare ribs, doughnuts, 
fruit and pie, 

Hard-boiled eggs, smoked sausage, chicken, Ah, but that 
was living high! 

Pardon here a pause, dear reader, while I fix this leaky 
eye; 

For I cannot see the picture, somehow something’s gone 
awry.) 

Well, one lad, a wordy youngster, oft this problem would 
propound, 

Thinking by his clever nonsense all his schoolmates to 
astound: 

“If two diametrical circles with octagonal 
peripheries should collide on a centrifugal 
idiosyncrasy, what would the catastrophe 
exert on a crystallised codfish suspended by 
the tail from a homogeneous rafter of the 
imperium?” 

This and other vital questions of our childhood still remain, 

And unanswered shall be with us till more wisdom we 
attain. 

Soon our schooldays will be over; “School’s out!” Hear 
the chorus ring! 

Then we children will be happy, as we were in early Spring. 

Time was when the country teacher went with us to stay 
all night; 

Now the program will be different, for the Master will 
invite 

All the girls and boys to His house, He this time will be 
the Host; 

We shall still be studying, learning, doing what we love 
the most. 

We shall play and work unwearied, never conscious of a 
rule, 

And I think we may in fancy, journey back to the Country 
School. 






84 


FINAL WISHES 

'V/AY you never lose your relish 
1 1 For hilarity and fun; 

May you never quit your fooling 
Till your life's last day is done. 








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